


Heart Container

by zaom



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Abraham Ford Lives, Angst, Daryl Dixon Whump, Glenn Rhee Lives, Hurt Daryl Dixon, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:54:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23380519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaom/pseuds/zaom
Summary: The group rescues Daryl from his captors and they quickly realize he has been violated in the worst way imaginable.How will he recover?
Relationships: Aaron/Eric Raleigh
Comments: 11
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My plan is to make this multi-chapter, but I'm a lazy bastard so I'm marking it as finished just in case lmao! 
> 
> TW for graphic rape. This isn't a smut fic or to be read for sexual gratification, this is a story of rape recovery.

Getting into the compound unnoticed hadn’t been easy, much less killing everyone in it. 

Daryl had left the walls of Alexandria early in the morning to go hunting, saying he had seen footprints of a deer in the woods for a while now and wanted to track it down. It had taken an entire day for people to suspect something was wrong. When the sky started turning dark and crickets began chirping, Rick asked everyone in town if they knew where Daryl was. When Sasha told him that the man had left the gates early this morning to hunt and she hadn’t seen him since, Rick arranged a crisis meeting in his living room. 

Rick had been livid, wanting to go out and search for Daryl immediately. He started barking out orders, assembling search parties and planning on where to look until Michonne chimed in with a soft hand on his shoulder, telling him that it could wait until morning.

“It’s already dark outside, we’d do no good tripping over each other. Daryl knows how to handle himself, I’m sure it can wait until tomorrow, then we’ll head out first thing.” 

Rick sighed and nodded, knowing she was right. 

But now he wishes they had gone sooner. 

* * *

It had taken them hours to find any sort of lead, and several more hours to set up a proper rescue plan. Rick, Glenn, Abraham, Michonne and Rosita were headed west when they came across a kid in the woods, scrawny and no older than 25. Rick had immediately pulled his gun on him. 

“What are you doing?” he spat at him. The kid freezed and put his hands up in surrender, dropping a basket full blueberries and his eyes wide and scared. He reminded Rick of that boy Randall, from so long ago.

“I’m just picking berries. Please don’t hurt me!” he whimpered. 

“Do you know where our friend is?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Glenn stepped in, his gun drawn as well and quirking his eyebrow. “Leather vest, long hair, crossbow?” 

Rick nodded. “Ringing any bells?”

The kid closed his eyes tightly, as if deep in thought. “Uhm… Maybe? Actually, yes, I do. My people brought him in yesterday. I’ll do what you want, just please don’t kill me!” he was trembling. 

“Your people?” Rick questioned. “Where are your people?”

Michonne frowned, looking between Rick and the boy. “We just want our friend back,” she said. 

The kid seemed unsure, definitely caught between a rock and a hard place. “I can’t tell you.”

“Like hell, you can’t,” Abraham rumbled. Rick rolled his eyes and quickly approached the boy with heavy steps and a feral look on his face. The younger man pointlessly tried running away but wasn’t fast enough, and Rick slammed the Colt Python across the back of his head. As the kid laid with his back on the wet grass, Rick straddled his chest and began punching relentlessly until the boy was sporting several ugly bruises and bleeding from his nose. He knew it wouldn’t take much for the kid to crack. 

“Tell us where he is,” he ordered, grabbing the kid by the lapels and shaking him roughly. The boy gasped sharply and sniffled, crying helplessly. 

“Fine, fine!” he blubbered. “Please don’t kill me, I beg you, oh my god, don’t kill me,” he kept blabbering, snot and blood running from his nose, eyes wet from tears and drooling. 

Rick raised himself up and pulled the boy with him, holding him by the back of his shirt. “Where is he?”

“He’s with my people. A factory not far from here, they’re keeping him in the basement. I don’t know anything else, p-please.” 

Rick nodded and pulled the kid with him, handcuffing his hands behind his back and using Abraham’s rag as a blindfold. The group began walking back in the direction of their cars. They needed to talk to everyone about the rescue mission and extract more information out of the boy. Rosita brought out her walkie-talkie and told everyone to head back to Alexandria and meet up in Rick’s house. 

“What’s your name, kid?” Abraham asked. 

“Frank.”

* * *

Turns out Frank was in a gang of 20 men who liked to plunder and steal, though Frank swore he had nothing to do with that. 

He told them the guard schedule, where they could sneak in and out unnoticed, the layout of the building and where they could possibly find Daryl. It wasn’t long until Rick and the crew had a proper rescue mission planned out and Frank wasn’t useful to them anymore.

So Rick shot him in the head and killed him.

* * *

_This is nothing._

“You got a camp?” one of the men asked Daryl. He had been tracking a buck for miles and started considering heading home when he suddenly was surrounded by a group of ten men, cursing himself for getting too distracted. They reminded him vividly of the Claimers. He denied everything the men asked him, and was quickly ambushed. He tried putting up a fight, but they were too many and stronger than him and he quickly realized there was nothing he could do. A hit to his head left him dazed and confused and he couldn’t struggle anymore, going limp in the arms of one man as a bag was pulled over his head. 

Daryl had been unconscious for 20 minutes, maybe 30. Long enough to have been dragged into a cold cell and hands tied to a pole on the wall behind his back. The first thing he registered as he came to was the cool concrete against his cheek and the rope around his wrists; _not handcuffs._ He opened his eyes and saw two large men standing in front of him, hands on their hips. One was fat but muscled and balding. The other one looked like an ex-military. 

“About time you woke up,” the fat one said. 

_This is nothing._

* * *

They wanted him to disclose the location of Alexandria. Torture was nothing new to Daryl, what with his old man being an angry drunk and psychopaths now lurking at every corner, and the men seemed to realize that after a few hours of trying to coax information out of the archer with abuse and threats. 

Gary and Mark, as Daryl learned they were called, had just taken a break from kicking him as another man walked through the door. This one was tall, sporting a large beard and scarred face, brown hair graying at the roots. With the way Daryl’s abusers submitted to him, he could only assume this was their leader. 

“Looks like you did a number on him,” the bearded man said, voice deep and gravely, probably from years of smoking. “No progress?” 

“He’s hard to crack, sir,” Mark said, the ex-military. “Bet his Daddy was a mean one,” he snickered. 

The leader smiled. “Leave it to me, boys. Give yourselves a break.”

The two men complied and shuffled through the door, quietly closing it behind them, leaving Daryl alone with the man. The leader walked towards him and squatted down, brown eyes meeting blue and Daryl refused to lower his gaze. _Don't show weakness._

“I’m David,” the man said. Several moments passed without Daryl saying anything back, just glaring at the man with fiery eyes. David let out a laugh. “Not much of a talker, are you? You don’t seem to scare easily either. You’re a tough one, I appreciate that,” he smiled, looking Daryl up and down. He breathed deep and reached to his side, grabbing a knife from the sheath attached to his belt. “You’re the sort of man who’s not afraid of pain. Probably known it your whole life, I get it. But I’ll figure you out, don’t worry. I already have some ideas in mind.” 

Daryl furrowed his eyebrows and squinted at David, feeling blood drip down from his nose and onto his lip, tasting metal. His head throbbed. David reached forward with his knife and Daryl couldn’t help but flinch back a little, which didn’t go unnoticed. David grinned and ran the tip of the blade against Daryl’s chin, down to his neck and chest, the cool metal causing the man to shiver. 

Then David is on him - pinning him down, firmly locking him in place, and tearing off Daryl’s shirt, buttons flying across the room. This close Daryl could catch the scent of the other man; tobacco, gasoline, dirt, and sweat. It made him want to gag. He started kicking his legs and squirmed back and forth to get the man off of him but it was to no use. He suddenly felt rough fingers pulling at his belt and he stilled, his body going cold. 

Is this happening?

Daryl tried to breathe deep and desperately looked around the room to see if there was any way out of this situation. A thick finger was forced into his mouth and between his teeth and Daryl gagged from the taste. He took the opportunity and bit down hard enough to draw blood in a useless attempt to break free. David shouted at the pain and smacked him across his already bruised and bleeding cheek.

“You cunt! I thought you were smarter than that,” David grunted and brought his finger to his mouth, sucking on it. He lifted Daryl’s head by his hair and harshly pushed him down again, the back of his head hitting the concrete with a sickening _crack_ and causing stars to appear behind Daryl’s eyelids. David quickly brought out the knife, ripping Daryl’s sleeveless shirt and flinging the shredded material to the side, Daryl’s entire upper body now exposed to the cold air. David gently stroked the tattoo Daryl had over his heart and hummed, smiling wickedly at the goosebumps appearing on the other man’s skin. “Who’s Norman, huh?” he asked.

Not waiting for an answer, David opened the button of Daryl’s pants, fiddled with the zipper and pulled down his trousers and boxers in one go, taking off Daryl’s shoes as well, his privates now laid bare in front of the other man. Daryl couldn’t help trembling and struggled to control his erratic breathing. He writhed and fought as much as he could under the taller man, but his vision swam and the room was spinning. That’s when the archer realized there was no way out of this situation, he was just going to have to survive it, just like he did as a child when his old man would whip out his belt. 

Panic would not save him.

_This is nothing._

He looked up into the grey ceiling, body frozen and heart slamming as he detected the clink of a belt buckle opening, a hand harshly spreading his knees, a large body positioning itself between his legs. Daryl could feel himself floating away, tips of his fingers and toes going numb and tingling. This sensation wasn’t new to Daryl, it was a coping mechanism he used religiously as a child when he was laid out on the floor as his drunken father punched him until he feared for his life, but he hadn’t experienced it in years. Dissociation. He read about it in the book about childhood abuse he picked up with Carol so long ago. 

This was just physical.

But nothing could have prepared him for the pain that radiated through his entire body after David spit into his hand, spreading it along his shaft and harshly shoved his penis into Daryl’s core. The agonized, excruciating scream that tears from his throat is a noise he has never heard himself make before. It rings in his ears and he feels bile rising up as the man above him starts thrusting harshly, grunting vulgarly with every move, tearing his insides up. 

For the first time since he was a little boy, he thought about praying to God for mercy. 

Daryl could feel something wet between his legs and quickly realized it was blood. He let out a sob as a lone tear escaped down his cheek, caught between helplessness, anger, defiance, sadness, disappointment, self-loathing, hatred, disgust and apathy. _This is nothing._ He has been hurt before and this was no different, he convinced himself. Rick and the others would find him and it’s going to be okay. It would always be okay. 

_Rick, Carol, anyone, please come._

Daryl looked up at the ceiling, counting the tiles as he felt blood dripping down and creating a puddle on the floor underneath him as David pounded violently into his insides. His world was fragmenting as his mind retreated into the back of his head. Daryl let out a sob as David hit his prostate and he felt his penis harden involuntarily. The pain and burning sensation inside of him was nothing but white noise now. Thoughts were just a dull roar in his head. He just counted the tiles.

Watching from above, like an angel, he could register the leader groaning obscenely as the man suddenly stilled and bit down on Daryl’s neck, hard enough to draw blood. Daryl didn’t cry as he felt himself being claimed. He didn’t fight as the hot seed flooded his insides. He didn’t gasp as he felt his core aflame and torn apart. This was nothing new.

_This is nothing._

His last thought before he fell unconscious was wishing his mother was there, for the first time in years.

* * *

Getting into the compound unnoticed hadn’t been easy, much less killing everyone in it. 

The Alexandrians hit during the middle of the night and began by slitting the throats of the unsuspecting guards. Afterward, they moved to the sleeping quarters and quietly killed the sleeping men by stabbing them in the head. They didn’t have to look for Daryl long after that. 

Down in the basement, two men were guarding the door to the room that Daryl was presumably being kept in. As they were distracted, Rick and Abraham quickly eliminated them and the group moved towards the door they had been patrolling. Rick put his hand on the handle, turned around and looked at his people, telling them to keep quiet and keep watch for any potential survivors. He had his gun ready just in case. 

The first thing he saw as he opened the door was Daryl tied to a pole, bruised and bleeding. The hunter was sporting a black eye and a head wound, his lip split and his shoulder seemed to be dislocated, but that was the least of his worries. 

No, because Daryl was completely nude, curled into himself. 

As the archer heard the door opening, his eyes fluttered open and looked up to see who was coming in. When Daryl saw Rick and their family behind him, his eyes widened in relief and wonder. Rick drew in a sharp breath and kicked into action, sprinting towards his brother and falling to his knees, desperately trying to untie Daryl. 

“Rick?” Daryl asked, dazed, terrified that this was just a hallucination. 

“Oh my god, you’re okay, thank god, you’re okay, what did they do to you?” Rick blubbered as he freed Daryl’s wrists and massaged them for him. The other man didn’t respond. “A jacket! Give him a jacket, a blanket, something!”

Jesus cautiously made his way towards the two and covered Daryl’s trembling body with his coat before stepping away again, not wanting to invade the hunter’s privacy more than he already had. 

Daryl closed his eyes tightly, the pity and shock on everyone’s faces were unbearable. Too many people are looking at him. They can’t see him like this. The noise and footsteps around him hurt his ears. 

That’s when Abraham moved towards Daryl and kneeled down. “I’ll help carry him, let’s get the fuck out of here,” he grunted towards Rick, who nodded back at him. 

The redheaded man lifted Daryl in his arms and carried him bridal style, groaning at the weight of the other man. As he holstered the injured archer up for a better grip, Daryl whimpered. Concerned eyes turned to him and Glenn quietly spoke up. 

“Guys…” he breathed sharply, pointing towards the space between Daryl’s legs. That’s when the group noticed blood and semen mixed together, dripping down the insides of Daryl’s thighs.

Rick knew this feeling. The feeling of rage and complete, utter helplessness. He knew it when Carl got shot, when the farm fell, when Hershel died, at Terminus, at Grand Memorial. He knew it all too well, but nothing could’ve prepared him for this. For the first time, Rick felt paralyzed. He swallowed, throat dry. How would Daryl recover from this? Their hunter, their archer, their protector, their brother. His best friend, a man who could never be broken. 

The previous shock and numbness Rick experienced were now morphing into cold, bloodthirsty fury. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, causing stars to appear behind his eyelids as he tried to suppress the killing rage. Going into a frenzy would not help Daryl. He had to think, stay calm, and be the leader Daryl needed him to be. 

There was a heavy silence in the cell before Abraham barked loudly, making everyone snap out of it and explode into action. 

“Let’s get the fuck out of this shithole!”

* * *

Rick sat on the bench outside of the infirmary with his head in his hands when Carol and Glenn approached him with a cup of coffee. Denise was still patching Daryl up inside, the man falling in and out of consciousness and not quite aware of his surroundings. 

Glenn offered him the mug. 

“Thought you could use some caffeine,” he said, voice glum. Rick reached forward and took the cup in his hands, bringing it to his lips and sipping quietly. 

“Thanks,” he replied in a raspy voice. His two friends moved to sit beside him and they stared off into nothing, silence thick in the room, none of them sure what to say next. 

Rick had handled hundreds of rape cases in his years as a cop and met heaps of rape victims and abuse survivors, but none of them had been his friends or family. None of them were _Daryl Dixon._ He had no clue how to handle this. His rage had dissolved and has now been replaced by something so, _so_ much worse. The realization that Daryl was alive and breathing, heart still pumping, but they had nevertheless been too late to save him. Lord knows if he’ll even be the same man when he wakes up. 

Rick takes a swig of his coffee and makes up hundreds of silent promises, hoping it will be enough for not being there for Daryl when the man needed him the most. 

That’s when Denise opened the door to the infirmary with Tara behind her. Rick could tell that they’re both trying hard to remain professional and calm, but the grief in their eyes was undeniable. 

“You can see him if you want. He’s okay... Physically, at least. He’s sleeping right now,” she said cautiously and opened the door wider to invite the three friends in. As Rick walked in through the door Tara put a gentle hand on his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

“Just… Be careful, yeah?” Tara mumbled up at him. Rick nodded and continued his way to Daryl’s bedside with Glenn and Carol following behind him. Rick didn’t know what he had expected to see when he walked through that door. 

Daryl laid on his back, eyes closed and breathing steadily, covered by a thin sheet in a futile attempt to protect his dignity. His cuts and abrasions were cleaned up, some of them had needed stitches. The three of them moved towards the injured man. Rick took the seat beside the bed, Carol sat on the edge and Glenn just stood up with his hands in his pockets, watching from above. 

“He’s gonna need to be on a strict diet for a few weeks until the stitches come off. Soft foods like mashed potatoes and soup, lots of fiber…“ Denise said, trying her best not to sound crude. Glenn looked at her confused, not sure what she meant. Denise coughed and shifted uncomfortably. 

“His rectum needed stitches and the fissures are bad… Any solids would make him tear again,” she explained quietly and Glenn’s face turned exceedingly forlorn. Rick felt a sharp pain in his chest. 

“He’s gonna be okay,” Tara tried reassuring them. Rick just smiled tightly and nodded. Carol leaned forward and pushed Daryl’s hair out of his face, stroking his cheek in a motherly manner and bit her lip to keep from crying. 

* * *

The first thing Daryl noticed as he came to was the pounding in his head and the ache in his bones. It didn’t take long for him to remember everything that happened, and couldn’t help but let out a pained groan. His eyes fluttered open and saw Rick crouched over him and Denise watching in the background. It was just them in the infirmary. 

“Hey, Daryl, how are you feeling?” Rick asked, glad to see his brother awake. Daryl grunted and tried lifting himself up.

“Fucking peachy,” he replied sarcastically. Denise snorted softly and moved towards him, putting a hand on his upper back to steady him.

“Careful,” she whispered. Daryl didn’t respond. Rick sighed and looked up at Denise, both unsure how to continue. “Do you want some water?” she asked instead. 

Daryl licked his lips and nodded before Denise went to the sink to fill a glass. Rick bit the inside of his cheek. 

“How are you, really?” Rick scanned Daryl’s posture, uncertain and cautious. He could see Daryl freezing and locking up, putting up an invisible barrier between them. Denise handed the archer a glass along with some painkillers and he gulped it down. Rick sighed sadly. “You know, Denise is a licensed therapist. Maybe-” 

“I ain’t a woman,” Daryl snapped defiantly, staring at the wall opposite him. 

“Gender doesn’t matter. You were violated,” Denise breathed out. “Nobody deserves that. You know, I talked to lots of male victims before all of this, they weren’t any less-” Daryl cut her off. 

“I’ve been hurt before, doesn’t matter.” 

Rick sighed. “This is different, Daryl.”

“How?” Daryl turned towards the man and glared at him, angry. “How’s it different? Man, y’all are making a big deal out of nothing,” he grumbled.

“You can’t shut off from this,” Rick argued. He put a gentle hand on Daryl’s shoulder but was quickly shoved off. 

“Yeah? Watch me. Can’t tell me what to fucking do,” Daryl spat out. 

“Why don’t you spend the night with Michonne, Carl, Judith and me, or Aaron and Eric?” Rick spoke softly. Daryl huffed and turned away. 

Denise looked between the two and decided to let it go, for now, signaling to Rick that he needed to back off. She went on to explain Daryl’s injuries, his new diet and the risk for sexually transmitted diseases, particularly HIV. Rick swallowed and felt nausea rising up his throat again, unable to stop himself from watching their hunter sadly.

* * *

Daryl wasn’t allowed to spend the night unsupervised, so he crashed in Aaron and Eric’s guestroom. Doctor’s orders. 

Daryl laid on the bed, curled underneath the thick comforter and breathing deeply, looking at the light from the bedside lamp. 

_Bet I look like a burrito right now._

He huffed out a laugh before it got stuck in his throat and he once again remembered why he was there. Honestly, he just couldn’t stand any more of Rick’s pitying looks and soft voice. At least Aaron and Eric had been quiet and left him alone. 

Daryl heard two footsteps going up the stairs and he lifted his head. Aaron knocked and opened the door slightly with Eric in tow, the latter carrying a plate of spaghetti and a glass of water. 

“Hey,” Aaron greeted. “We figured you could use some food.”

Daryl sat up and winced. Aaron rushed forward, unsure whether or not to help but when Daryl held up his hand he stopped in his tracks, letting the injured man do it himself. Eric put the plate down on the bedside table.

“Thanks,” Daryl grunted but didn’t reach towards the steaming spaghetti. Aaron and Eric exchanged a few looks and Eric hummed. 

“Aaron, could you leave us alone, please?” he asked kindly. Daryl looked up in surprise. 

“Sure. Holler if you need anything,” Aaron smiled and walked through the door, softly closing it behind him.

Eric sighed and sat down at the side of Daryl’s bed, elbows on his knees. He looked forward to the wall opposite him and out of the window. Daryl squinted at the smaller man, suspicious.“Ain’t you gonna say anything?” he asked gruffly. Eric just shrugged. 

“I was 22, at the bar with some friends from college. I looked away from my drink for two seconds and this psychopath still managed to roofie it. It happened so fast, one minute I was fine and the other I was dizzy and uncoordinated, I didn’t know what was going on. My friends just thought I had too much to drink and left me to it. I went outside to get some air and that’s when the guy got me. He pulled me into his car and drove off to a secluded park. I was too high to do anything, I barely even knew what was happening,” Eric sighed. 

Daryl looked at the man up and down, frowning and unsure if he wanted to hear any more. How was this supposed to help? 

“He raped me behind a bush, then he just left. A girl and her dog found me about half an hour later, my pants were still pulled down and I was completely out of it. I remember how everyone around me saw me as nothing but a victim. It made me want to tear my hair out,” he laughed bitterly. 

Daryl struggled to breathe. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. 

Eric smiled faintly, looking the other man in the eye. “Don’t apologize. My point is, I know. How can just a few horrible minutes change so much, right? But it does.” 

Daryl looked down. “Why is it different?” 

Eric understood what he meant. “I don’t know. It just is.”

After a few moments of silence, Eric put his hand on Daryl’s knee underneath the cover, squeezing comfortingly and smiling softly. He raised himself up and walked towards the door, turning around as he opened it. 

“You can talk to me anytime,” he told the archer. Eric’s eyes flickered to the spaghetti, still sitting on the bedside table untouched. “That plate better be licked clean when I come and get it in the morning,” he smirked and slipped out. 


	2. Chapter 2

Daryl found himself curled up in Aaron and Eric’s shower the next morning. The steaming water burned his skin but he liked it, the heat nice on his aching muscles as he scrubbed himself pink. His eyes were red and hot from sleeplessness, his throat sore from vomiting and the sour aftertaste of bile lingered on his tongue. 

Daryl tried desperately to escape from himself and make his mind disappear, but his chafed wrists, the stinging of his cuts and the soreness between his legs pinned him back down, a cruel reminder of what had happened. He  _ remembers  _ and he’s thrown back into the hurt and humiliation all over again. 

He finally built up the courage to clean himself between his legs, surprised by how much it hurt as his hand ran through his pubic hair and penis. His shaft was colored blue and purple from bruises, reminding him of hands that were not his own squeezing him painfully.

Daryl tried ignoring the pain and spread his legs instead, letting his hand reach down behind his testicles. He whimpered as the torn skin and wounds stung and burned to the touch, the pain so sharp he instinctively tore his hand away. 

That’s when Daryl’s face crumpled up, humiliated and angry at himself. He heaved the bar of soap against the shower wall ruthlessly. It bounced back and hit him in the shin, making him groan and he couldn’t help but let out a quiet sob. He brought his knees up to his face, giving himself a tight hug as he squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to let any tears slip. Daryl took several deep breaths in an attempt to get a hold of himself. 

_ Pussy. _

As he slowly but surely calmed down, he realized he was wasting hot water. Daryl turned off the tap and stepped gingerly out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. He avoided the mirror over the sink as he opened the door and made his way back towards the guest bedroom. 

Carol had been kind enough to leave some change of clothes when she heard Daryl was staying with the couple, which explained the short-sleeved shirt and jeans that were lying neatly on the bed along with his vest. Eric must’ve sneaked in when the archer was in the shower, probably to bring the empty plate back down to the kitchen and just decided to set it up nicely for the older man.

Daryl walked little by little, limping to his embarrassment. Every step he took made his body burn. 

He dressed slowly, careful not to tear any stitches and winced when he had to bend down to pull the pants up. Once dressed, Daryl made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen where he was met by Aaron and Eric, both drinking coffee and chatting in the early morning sun that shone through the window. 

Daryl fetched a bowl from the counter above the sink and poured some Cornflakes into it, quickly digging in as he leaned against the counter. Aaron coughed. 

“Did you sleep well?” Aaron asked. Eric looked at his husband tiredly. 

But before Daryl could answer there was a knock on the front door. Eric rose up and made his way to open it, revealing Rick on the other side. 

“Hey,” the leader smiled as he was greeted. “I just wanted to check in and see how Daryl’s holding up.” Rick and Daryl’s eyes met as Rick made his way inside, dragging the dirt off of his shoes on the welcome mat. 

Daryl couldn’t stand the sadness in Rick’s eyes every time he looked at him. Daryl wanted to scream, throw things and punch his friend in the face to make it go away. But he didn’t. 

Pity. Something Daryl had been the subject of many times. Daryl quickly realized that his place in the group as the hunter and protector was gone. He knew that those who previously looked at him in admiration and marveled at his bravery would now only see him as something fragile and broken, something to be sheltered and cared for. Every time he’d walk down the streets of Alexandria, there’d be eyes following him with empathy and understanding. 

Daryl didn’t need to be soothed or hear kind words. 

“Good morning,” Rick said to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Daryl replied curtly. Rick nodded slowly.

“Just wanted to tell you that Rosita is gonna cover your shifts for the next few weeks, so you don’t have to worry about that.” Daryl blinked before looking at him in disbelief.

“Why the hell for?” he asked, trying not to raise his voice. Rick sighed and put his hands on his hips. 

“Daryl-” 

“Nah. Fuck that,” Daryl seethed. Aaron and Eric looked between the two uncomfortably. “I’m not a fucking invalid, Rick!” 

“I know, I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant,” Rick said quietly, holding up his hands. “I just thought you could use having something else on your mind. Maybe you could play with Judith, or spend some time in the garden with Carol? Denise is always in the infirmary, you know. I know you don’t want to talk to her, but-” Daryl scoffed and glared at the man, getting more and more agitated. 

“What part of ‘I don’t want to’ do you not understand?” he barked. Finally, the room was quiet as Daryl began to realize the implications of what he just said. He sighed and moved towards the front door, shoving Rick out of the way for good measure and slammed the door behind him as he walked out. He could hear his friend trying to apologize in the background but he didn’t want to listen. Not now. 

He inhaled the fresh air deeply as he made his way down the street, not looking at anyone who may be walking on the sidewalk or sitting on their porch, glancing at him. Daryl wanted nothing more than to escape into the woods and feel free for a while, but he knew that Abraham and Rosita, who were on guard duty at the moment, would not let him out and that wasn’t a discussion he was ready to have. 

So he made his way towards the back of his own house, which was at the back of Alexandria, the more solitary part of town. It was a small, one-story house and resembled a cabin more than a house. It wasn’t like Rick’s place, and he liked it that way. 

Daryl sat down on the wet grass and leaned against the wall away from prying eyes. He tried sitting on his tailbone instead of directly on his backside, but the pain still managed to radiate up his back and chest. It made his throat tighten. He sighed and closed his eyes, fishing out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter he kept in the pocket of his vest. 

He lit the cigarette with shaky hands, taking a deep inhale and almost moaning with the relief of nicotine in his veins. Daryl looked up and saw a flock of birds flying by, the sky cerulean and no clouds to be seen. It was a nice day. 

Daryl exhaled a puff of smoke and brought the cigarette out of his mouth, holding it between his fingers as he looked at it contemplatively. Biting his lip, he brought the butt of the cig to the back of his hand, wincing a little from the pain. He rolled it a little between his fingers and pressed down, looking at the angry, red circle forming on his skin. It grounded him. 

His injuries are nothing compared to the stuff he’s been through before, but it hits so differently. It’s a type of pain, radiating through his entire body that he cannot comprehend. Daryl’s mind felt terrifyingly hollow yet bursting. It was nothing and too much all at once. He felt like it happened to someone else, someone who wasn’t him. He was just watching a movie, or in a dream, yet his heart couldn’t help but ache painfully in his chest. 

Daryl heard footsteps making their way towards him. As he looked up, he saw Carol rounding the corner and the woman smiled as their eyes met. 

Carol sat down beside him and leaned her back to the wall, breathing deep. She looked at him through the corner of her eye and quirked her brow. 

“Care to share?” she nodded to the cigarette. Daryl sighed and fished for the pack in his pocket, handing Carol a cig and his lighter. She accepted them gratefully.

“Thought you quit,” Daryl murmured. Carol lit her cigarette and breathed in deep before exhaling a cloud of smoke. 

“I did, and I will again, after this one,” she replied.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, looking at the birds and the swaying trees before Carol glanced over to Daryl. She scanned his posture and looked him up and down with an expression the man couldn’t quite place. Carol reached out and gently tucked a tuft of hair behind his ear before she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. 

Daryl bowed his head and tilted his body towards her. She ran her fingers through his hair soothingly as he laid his head on her shoulder. Carol was the only person on Earth that could fuss over the hunter in this manner without being punched in the face and she took pride in it. The woman breathed deeply before speaking.

“I know you’re not okay,” she said. Daryl looked down at the grass and bit his cheek. 

“I’m alright,” he said instead. 

“But you’re not, and I know because I know  _ you _ ,” Carol whispered. She leaned away a bit to look the man in the eye. “You have to let yourself feel it, I told you,” she said. The woman reached down to grab his hand and stroked the back of it with her thumb, careful to avoid the new cigarette wound. She looked down at their linked hands. Daryl swallowed. 

“Making a big deal out of it is just making it worse,” Daryl grumbled, keeping his gaze lowered. 

“It  _ is  _ a big deal,” Carol argued. 

“Doesn’t have to be.” 

Carol sighed. 

“Rape isn’t something people can just… walk away from or forget. It sticks with you for the rest of your life,” she said. Daryl recoiled at the harsh word. 

“Doesn’t mean I have to be like that.” 

“But you are. You’re sensitive, you’re good and kind and brave. Of course, it’s going to affect you.”

Daryl scoffed and turned away, looking down defiantly. Carol sighed. 

“What if it had happened to Rick?” Carol asked, knowing it was a low blow but she needed to get the point across. “Would you tell him to ‘man up’? Would you dismiss him?” 

Daryl glared at her and sneered. “Of course not, why-”

“Then why are you acting like that towards yourself?”

“I ain’t Rick, and Rick ain’t me.” 

“You’re right. The point still stands, though.”

Daryl exhaled roughly and rested his chin on his forearms, now refusing to meet Carol’s eye. 

He knew she was right, but that didn’t make it any easier.

* * *

Back in Aaron and Eric’s house, Rick stood in the middle of the kitchen, looking at the door which Daryl had just slammed shut and took a deep breath. He had expected this to happen. Goddamn Daryl and his stubbornness. 

Rick rested his hands on his hips, looking down at the wooden floor and sighing. He was about to say goodbye to the couple and head back out when Eric spoke up. 

“You need to stop babying him,” he said softly. Rick shook his head.

“I’m not babying him,” he replied.

“He thinks you are,” Eric said. 

“I’m just treating him like-” 

“Like a rape victim,” Eric cut off. 

“Because that’s what he is!” Rick argued. Aaron looked between the two, a concerned expression on his face. 

“But it’s not all he is,” Aaron said. 

Rick shook his head and looked down towards his feet, feeling defeated. 

“I just don’t want him to shut off from this.”

“He won’t,” Eric murmured. “He’ll process it in his own time. All you have to do for Daryl right now is to be there for him when he inevitably cracks.”

* * *

Daryl passed out on the streets five days after his talk with Carol. He was working on his bike outside of Aaron and Eric’s garage and talking to Michonne when he suddenly started to feel dizzy and nauseous. He tried his best to appear fine for several minutes, although he could feel himself start to sweat and his legs were shaking underneath him. Eventually, he couldn’t stay standing anymore and crumbled down to the ground. There were stars in his vision and the world looked like it was spinning. The last thing Daryl heard before he fainted was the sound of Michonne dropping to her knees beside him and calling for help. 

Daryl woke up half an hour later in the infirmary, lying on his back on the soft bed. He frowned and looked around, feeling confused and irritated about being back in the pale room again. Denise and Michonne both stood up and walked towards his bedside when they noticed he had finally woken. 

“How are you feeling?” Denise asked, bringing a glass of water with her that Daryl happily accepted. He took a couple of gulps before answering.

“Sick,” he replied. Michonne and Denise smiled faintly. 

“Go easy on the water, tiger. You’ll get even sicker,” Michonne laughed. Daryl rolled his eyes and reluctantly placed the half-full glass on the bedside table. Denise smiled and tilted her head.

“Have you been eating?” she asked. Daryl looked around guiltily and sighed. 

“Not really,” he admitted. Denise furrowed her eyebrows and looked at him, expression concerned. 

“Why not?” she asked, keeping her voice soft and gentle. Daryl glanced over at Michonne and then back down to the bed, shrugging. The two women quickly realized the problem and Michonne gave both the doctor and the patient a soft look before she left the room, leaving Daryl and Denise alone. The doctor looked at him curiously, encouraging him to continue talking. 

“Hurts,” he simply said. The woman nodded. 

“Bet it does, if it has made you go days without food.”

“Feels like crapping out knives,” he snorted humorlessly. Denise chuckled with him and nodded in understanding. 

“Didn’t I tell you about your new diet?” Denise asked. 

“Probably. Didn’t really stick though,” Daryl shrugged. That wasn’t the truth, though. He knew and understood Denise’s instructions, loud and clear. The problem was the humiliation he felt when he had to eat porridge instead of venison like the rest of them, and they all knew why. 

“Yeah, you were still pretty out of it then. I’m sorry, that’s my fault,” Denise said. Daryl just shook his head, silently telling her not to apologize. “We’ll stick to liquids for a while, soups, and stews et cetera. In a week you could work your way up to fruits,” she smiled gently. “Just don’t starve yourself again, yeah? We need you here.” 

Daryl avoided her gaze and bit his lip hard enough to bleed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is kinda short lmao. I got more planned but I wanted to post this first :-) Kudos and comments are appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> I'm in need of a beta reader. Please let me know if you'd be interested :) Kudos and comments are much appreciated! Constructive criticism is welcomed.


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